З життя
Невеликий сільський куточок.
В українській невеликій, майже хуторі, розкинулось селище на пагорбі серед моху та журавлини. У селі всього чотири двори, дахи яких від дощів стали сірими, криті дранкою, притулилися під могутніми дубами, через що й назвали село Дубки.
У Дубках жило лише одинадцять душ. Люди тут жили завдяки господарству, полюванню та рибальству. Найзаможнішим в селі був Іван Трохимович. Він був скупий і роботящий чоловік. Йому вже під шістдесят, але сили ще в ньому є. Цієї осені назбирав п’ятнадцять пудів журавлини, звісно, не сам, а з Петром. Це його син. Петро — молодший, йому вісімнадцять. Двоє старших синів живуть у Києві і вже три роки не були вдома. Петро поки що в місто не тягнеться, але й до сільської праці не дуже пристосований. Одного ранку, прийшовши додому, Петро сказав батькові: — Засилайте, батьку, сватів в Озірці. — Куди саме? — похмуро запитав Іван. — До Дем’янових, до їхньої Павлинки. І знаючи сувору вдачу батька, додав: — Якщо не пошлете сватів, піду з нею в місто до братів. Не знайшлось Івану відради від молодшого. Він не дурень, легковажний. І господар з нього ніякий, але ж останній він. Піде в місто, а залишуся я на самоті з господарством. Марфа, стара його, зовсім слабка стала, хвороба її звела. Василь Дем’янов сам собі п’яниця та ледар, а дівчина у нього красуня. Бачив її Іван влітку на косовицях. Висока, статна, руса коса до пояса. Величезні сірі очі. І що ж вона знайшла в Петрі? Так!
Дівчина така будь-яку хату прикрасить, і Марфі давно помічниця потрібна. Довго чи коротко, але на Покрови справили весілля. А ще через місяць у Дубки приїхав представник і забрав Петра в армію. На проводах Павлинка плакала за Петром, як за покійником. З від’їздом Петра життя Павлини в Дубках стало нестерпним. Свекор перестав її пускати. Спочатку, ніби жартуючи, то ущипне, коли йде повз, то спробує обійняти, коли вона доїть корову. А як мила підлогу у світлиці, нахабно заліз їй під спідницю. Вона нічого не могла відповісти, їй було соромно перед свекрухою, яка лежала за ширмою. Якось, коли набирала сіна на сіннику, Іван підкрався до Павлини ззаду, повалив її в сіно і ліз цілувати, дихнувши на неї часниковим перегаром. Колючий, мохнатий бородатий закрив усе її обличчя, не даючи крикнути. Павлина стала задихатися, а свекор копирсався під її спідницею. Як їй вдалося вибратися з-під важкого Івана, вона не пам’ятає, але вибравшись, схопила вила, націлила їх у груди свекра і важко дихаючи прошипіла: «Заколю! Кобель старий! Прости мене, Господи!»
З цього дня свекор перестав чіплятися до Павли, але став обзивати її за кожну дрібницю: то не так вона робить, то це не так. Врешті-решт життя у дівчини стало нестерпним. І плакала Павлина і жалкувала. Ходила в Озірці до матері, скаржилася їй. А що мати? Пожаліла, поплакала і відправила назад. «Терпи», сказала. «Прийде Петро, все налагодиться». Перед поверненням у Дубки Павлина зайшла в сільский магазин, щоб купити сірники і приправи для кухні. Взяла лавровий лист, червоний перець, порошок гірчиці — свекор наказував. З малою охотою пішла в Дубки. Павлина йшла, скриплячи валянками по снігу, і роздумувала над своєю нелегкою долею. Вже третій місяць, як поїхав Петро.
Подобався їй цей веселий, бешкетний хлопець. Хоча в селі були й красивіші хлопці. Але грубі всі, безсоромні, а цей ніжний, грубого слова від нього не почути. Полюбити ж як слід не встигли. А тепер свекор норовить замість сина потішитися. «Не буде цього! Треба відвадити старого зіграча! Але як?» Поглиблена в свої думки, Павла навіть не помітила, як дійшла до Дубків. Свекор зустрів її з бурчанням, що довго ходила і не те купила. Попивши молока, Павла пішла в свою кімнату і замкнула двері на засув. Наступного дня топили баню. Баня стояла далеко від дому, біля маленького ставка. Павлина натягала води, розтопила піч. Потім, коли поралася по господарству, поклала в кишеню фартуха пакетик з червоним перцем. Вирішивши, що цього мало, додала гірчиці. Через деякий час, коли зібралася приби|ратися в бані, натерла полок перцем і гірчицею, щедро насипала адської суміші в тазик з вологим віником. Від запаху перцю і гірчиці в неї защипало в носі. Павла чмихнула і вискочила з лазні. Вискочила вона якраз вчасно, на зустріч уже йшов свекор з вузликом білизни під пахвою. — «Навіщо баню студиш, шмаркачко», — накинувся він на неї. Переступивши з тропи у снег, Павла мовчки пропустила свекра і побігла в хату. Зачинивши за собою двері, вона притулилася до стіни, серце її було готове вискочити з грудей. «Що буде?» Страшно Павлинці і радісно на душі, що вирішила покарати негідника. «Зараз тобі, старий, буде спекотно». «Ах ти, шмаркачка» — подумав Іван. Напевно, погано провітрила баню? Або головешка в каменці ще тліє». Поковирявши з пічкою кочергою і заливши водою тліючий вугіль, Іван виліз на полок і із задоволенням розтягнувся на ньому. Полок був гарячий і трохи обпалював шкіру. Іван пом’явся спиною і задом, звикаючи до спеки, але спека поступово перейшла в печіння.
Нічого не розуміючи, Іван сів на полок. Пробіг рукою по дошках полока. Нічого не знайшов. Інстинктивно почухав, цією ж рукою, своє «господарство» і тут же майже звалився на підлогу. Відчуття було таке, ніби передом вкусила оса, а ззаду накрили кропивою. Вревнувши від болю, як поранений ведмідь, Іван вскочив, як мати народила, з лазні, і плюхнувся в сніг. Печіння трохи вщухло, але сидіти на снігу стало холодно, і він побіг назад у баню. На підлозі, подавляючи ледве стримуваний сміх, качалася Павла. З кута свого вилізла Марфа і здивовано втупилася на Павлу, від якої зі дня від’їзду Петра, сміху не чула.
Марфа давно помічала, що її чоловік чіпляється до невістки, але захистити її сил не було, а тепер Павлина, взяла так і розказала свекрусі, як покарала старого. Марфа спершу насупила молочні брови — стало жаль чоловіка, але потім зі сміхом і сказала: «Так тому кабелю і потрібно». Увійшовши знову в баню, Іван став міркувати, що ж з ним сталося. Може на полок що потрапило? Зачерпнувши ковш гарячої води, він рясно змив полок і заліз на нього. Наче нічого не обпалювало. Піддавши в каменку, Іван взяв з шайки віник і став ганяти ним по спині і зав’язках, але тут у нього защипало в носі і в очах, тіло знову запалало вогнем, а в залі свербило так, ніби він сів у мурашник.
Зкотившись з полока на підлогу, він повзком доповз до дверей і майже вибивши її, викотився з лазні в знайомий сніг. Додому Іван прийшов мовчки, коли вже стемніло, вечері не захотів, одразу пішов спати, але заснути йому не вдалося. Все тіло палало. Він крутився на скрипучій ліжку, як в’юн на сковороді і едва не вив від болю, ледве стримуючи стони. Коли стало нестерпним, він розчинив вікно, зняв кальсони і виставив палаючу задню на мороз. Стало легше, але Івану здавалося, що від його сяїни можна прикурити цигарку. Слава богу ніч, якби хто побачив цю картину: Іван — відлюдний гордій, що сидить на підвіконні з голою задницею, як ворон на сучку, важко сказати, що б про нього подумали.
По-своєму оцінив що відбувається вірний пес Васка, чиї будка стояла під цим вікном. Пес встав на задні лапи і лизнув хазяїна за…. Від несподіваної ласки в Івана в грудях похолоділо і він, розм’якнувши, грюкнувся на підлогу. Від гуркоту встала Марфа, вийшла з своєї кімнати Павла зі свічкою в руці. Від малюнка, побаченого ними, хочеться і плакати, і сміятися. З голою ягодицею, без свідомості, на підлозі лежав Іван, а в відкрите вікно зазирала руда морда Васки. З цього дня Іван перестав чіплятися до Павли, так нічого і не сказавши їй. А незабаром Павла отримала від Петра листа і поїхала до нього, де він служив.
Хоча бабуся Дарина в своєму оповіданні і назвала невістку Павлиною, а я думаю, що це вона про себе. На неї схожий, хоча їй і за вісімдесят, а в очах досі пробігають іскри нечестиві…
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He Hated His Wife. Hated Her… They Spent 15 Years Together—Every Morning He Saw Her Face, But Only in the Last Year Did Her Habits Begin to Grate on Him, Especially the Way She Stretched Out Her Arms in Bed and Sleepily Said, “Good Morning, Sunshine! It’s Going to Be a Wonderful Day.” At First He’d Loved Her Body, Her Freedom, Her Morning Rituals—Now Even Her Nakedness Filled Him with Anger. She Knew of His Three-Year Affair, But Time Had Healed Her Wounded Pride and Left Only a Sad Sense of Uselessness. Secretly, She Struggled with a Terminal Illness, Finding Solace in a Quiet Village Library. When He Finally Decided to Leave Her for His Lover, He Discovered a Hidden Folder with Her Medical Records—The Diagnosis Gave Her 6–18 Months to Live, and Six Months Had Already Passed. At a Restaurant Where They Once Celebrated Their Anniversary, She Waited for Him in the Autumn Sunshine, Tears Flowing as She Realized Her Life Was Slipping Away Unnoticed. In the End, He Cared for Her Every Moment Until She Passed, Realizing Too Late the Depth of His Loss; Under Her Pillow He Found Her New Year’s Wish: “To Be Happy with Him Until the End of My Days.” That Same Year, He’d Wished for Freedom—And in the End, Each Received Exactly What They’d Requested…
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Bitterness at the Bottom of My Soul “You belong in a care home, and you know it! Get out of our family!” I shouted at the top of my lungs, my voice breaking with emotion. The target of my outrage was my cousin, Dima. Lord, I loved him so much as a child—his golden hair, cornflower-blue eyes, cheerful nature. That was Dima all over. Family gatherings would often bring us all together around the table, but out of all my cousins, it was always Dima who stood out. With his silver tongue, he could weave tales like intricate lace, and he was a gifted artist. By the end of any evening, he’d have sketched five or six pencil drawings with ease. I would marvel at his work, unable to tear myself away from its beauty, and quietly stash his drawings in my desk for safekeeping, cherishing his creativity. Dima was two years older than me. When he was fourteen, his mother died suddenly and unexpectedly—she simply never woke up. Everyone wondered what would become of Dima. They looked first to his biological father, but finding him was not easy—his parents had long been divorced, and his father had another family and wasn’t about to disrupt his “peaceful life.” Then the rest of the relatives collectively shrugged—each had their own families and worries. Suddenly, our extended family was nowhere to be found when needed most. So, with two children of their own, my parents agreed to take Dima in—the late woman was my father’s younger sister, after all. At first, I was happy that Dima would be living with us. But… On his very first day in our home, I noticed something odd about my favourite cousin’s behaviour. Trying to bring him some comfort, my mum asked, “Is there anything you’d like, Dima? Don’t be shy, just tell us.” Immediately, Dima answered, “A model railway set.” This toy was quite expensive, and his wish surprised me. I thought—your mum just died, the most important person in your world, and all you can think about is a train set? How could he? Still, my parents bought it for him immediately. But soon Dima’s requests snowballed. “Buy me a tape recorder, jeans, a branded jacket…” This was the 1980s. Not only were these things pricey, but difficult to find. Yet my parents, depriving their own children, tried to fulfil every wish of the orphan. My brother and I endured this in silence, understanding it was for Dima. When Dima turned sixteen, he started chasing after girls. He became infatuated with me—his own cousin. But I, being sporty and quick, dodged his advances, even fighting him off physically at times and ending up in tears. My parents never knew—I didn’t want to upset them. Most kids keep such things to themselves. After I made it clear I wasn’t interested, Dima quickly moved on to my friends, who actually competed for his attention. Dima also stole from us, brazenly and without shame. I remember saving my school lunch money in a piggy bank for a present for my parents—one day, it was empty. Dima swore blind he hadn’t touched it, didn’t so much as blush. My soul was torn to pieces—how could he steal in the very house we shared? Dima shattered our family’s trust, as if nothing mattered to him. I began to hate him. That’s when I screamed, with all my might: “Get out of our family!” I let rip at Dima, said more than fit in a hat—words I can’t take back. My mother barely managed to calm me down. Since then, Dima ceased to exist for me. I avoided him in every way. Later, it turned out the other relatives all knew what “sort” Dima was—they lived nearby and had seen plenty. Only our family, living farther away, had been in the dark. Dima’s former teachers even warned my parents: “You shouldn’t have taken him in. Dima will only ruin your own children.” At a new school, he met Kate, who would fall head-over-heels for Dima and marry him right after graduation. They had a daughter. Kate patiently endured his wild whims, endless lies, and countless betrayals. As the old saying goes: “single and you suffer, married and it’s double.” Dima was later conscripted for military service in Kazakhstan. There, he formed a “second family”—apparently during breaks from service. He fathered a son. After his discharge, Dima stayed in Kazakhstan, but Kate went after him and, by hook or by crook, brought him back to his family. My parents never heard a word of thanks from Dima—not that they expected it. Now, Dmitry Eugene is sixty. He’s a devout parishioner at the local English church, with Kate and five grandchildren. Everything seems fine, but the bitterness from my relationship with Dima still lingers… A taste too bitter, even for honey.
BITTERNESS AT THE BOTTOM OF THE SOUL You should have been in a childrens home ages ago! Get out of...
POSTAGE STAMP… “Ilya’s left Katya,” Mum sighed heavily. “What do you mean?” I didn’t understand. “I don’t get it myself,” Mum said. “He was away on business for a month, came back all changed. Told Katya he loves someone else.” “Did he really say that? Must be some mistake—how awful,” I fumed at Katya’s husband. “Sonia called me—said Katya was unwell, had to call an ambulance. Turned out Katya had some kind of neurological swallowing disorder,” Mum blinked rapidly. “Alright, Mum, calm down. Honestly, Katya shouldn’t have put Ilya on a pedestal like that. She was always dancing attendance on him. Now she’s left picking up the pieces. Poor Katya. I hope Ilya isn’t serious about this new woman—he loves Katya and Sonia,” I refused to believe what I’d heard. …Ilya and Katya’s wild passion, their whirlwind romance—they married after just two months. Their daughter Sonia was born. Life was measured, calm, and then—everything tumbled downhill… Like a Rolling Boulder… I rushed straight to my sister. Some conversations are hardest with those closest to you. “Katya, how could this happen? Did Ilya even explain? Has he lost his mind?” I barraged my sister. “I’m in shock myself, Nina. Who is this woman? Did she cast some sort of spell? Ilya dashed off to her, obsessed. Threw his stuff in a bag, left. Feels like I’ve been dragged across concrete. I don’t understand…” Katya sobbed endlessly. “Let’s wait, Katya. Maybe your runaway will come to his senses. These things happen,” I hugged her. He Didn’t Come Back. Ilya made a new life in another city, and with a new wife. Ksenia was eighteen years Ilya’s senior, but the age gap didn’t prevent their happiness. “Souls don’t have ages,” Ksenia said. Ilya was smitten. Ksenia became his lodestar. She had a tough streak—could be tender, could be ruthless. Ilya adored her. Every time he’d marvel, “Where have you been all my life, Ksenia? I’ve searched half my life for you…” Meanwhile, Katya decided to seek vengeance—all men now fair game. Beautiful, she turned heads everywhere. She had a fling with her boss, entranced him. “Katya, marry me. I’ll make you rich. You’ll be treated like a queen.” “No thanks, Dmitri—I’ve had enough marriages… Let’s go to the seaside instead. I want Sonia to get some fresh air,” Katya winked. “Alright, my dear…” Sasha was simpler—helped around the flat, did her renovations, but never proposed—he was already married. Katya strung both along—no love, just distraction from her misery. She still yearned for Ilya, saw him in dreams, woke up in useless tears. Couldn’t let go of those memories. “How do you un-weld someone from your life? What did I do wrong? I was loyal, caring—never argued…” …Years went by. Katya’s life was split between Dmitri’s tender invites, Sasha’s handyman help. …Sonia was twenty when she decided to visit her father. Bought a train ticket, wondered how to address “the other woman.” Arrived in a new city. …Rang the bell. “You must be Sophia,” an interesting woman opened the door. “Mum is much prettier…” Sonia thought. “Ksenia, right?” Sonia guessed. “Yes, come in. Your dad’s not home but will be soon,” Ksenia led her to the kitchen. “How are you? How’s your mum?” Ksenia fussed, “Tea, coffee?” “Ksenia, how did you manage to steal my dad away? He loved my mum—I know that for sure,” Sonia looked her straight in the eye. “Sophia, life’s unpredictable. Love has no guarantees. Sometimes passion sweeps in and one meeting changes everything. Fate intervenes. Sometimes, you just have to change partners in the dance. It can’t be explained,” Ksenia slumped into a chair. “But can’t you just stop? Think of your duty to family…” Sonia couldn’t grasp Ksenia’s reasoning, glaring at the woman she loathed. “You can’t, child,” Ksenia replied simply. “Thank you for your honesty,” Sonia refused the coffee. “Sophia, want some cheeky advice? A man is like a postage stamp—the more you spit on him, the better he sticks. And in general, you need to be steel one day, velvet the next… By the way, your dad and I had a big row.” “Thanks for the tip. Should I wait for Dad?” Sonia asked anxiously. “I’m not sure. He’s been living in a hotel this week. Here’s the address,” Ksenia scribbled it on a scrap of paper. Sonia was relieved—now she could talk to her dad alone. “Goodbye, thanks for the coffee,” she left quickly. She found the hotel, knocked on his door. Ilya was happy—if a bit embarrassed—to see his daughter. “I was planning on returning today—after the row and all…” “That’s your business, Dad. I just wanted to see you,” Sonia carefully took her father’s hand. “How’s your mum?” Ilya asked. “All’s well. We’ve gotten used to life without you.” They spent a warm evening in the hotel room—talking, laughing, shedding quiet tears. “Dad, do you love Ksenia?” Sonia suddenly asked. “Very much. I’m sorry, darling,” Ilya answered surely. “Got it. I need to run—my train’s soon,” Sonia gathered her things. “Come by, Sonia—we’re family, after all,” Ilya’s eyes dropped. “Of course… see you soon,” Sonia left. …Returning home, she decided to follow Ksenia’s advice: Don’t love, don’t treasure, don’t believe empty men’s words. Brush them off… …But three years later, the right man came along: Kirill. He was made for Sonia, sent by fate… She knew instantly, sensed it… When you meet your true love, nothing else even tempts you… Kirill wrapped his woman in his heart and never let go. He touched her soul in ways unseen. Sonia fell deeply, utterly, without conditions…
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A Husband Worth More Than Bitter Grudges: My Turbulent Journey from Heartbreak and Hardship to Risking It All for a Second Chance at Love
MY HUSBAND MATTERS MORE THAN BITTER GRIEVANCES James, thats the last straw! Im done, were getting a divorce! Dont bother...
For two years, Maria was only the carer for his mother. Maria managed to marry a highly respected English gentleman—envied by all her friends. Her husband owned a successful business, a luxurious home in the suburbs, several cars, and a cottage in the countryside—all by the age of thirty-two. Maria, meanwhile, had just finished her university degree and worked for a year as a teacher. That summer, they married. After the wedding, her husband insisted there was no need for his wife to work for pennies. He wanted her to stay home and prepare for children. Maria didn’t object. The first year of marriage was like a fairy tale: travelling together, making memories, buying expensive clothes. Yet Maria rarely had a chance to wear her new outfits. Her friends were busy with work and family, and her husband was always attending events—never taking Maria with him. She grew bored. Unable to have children, Maria’s feelings for her husband began to fade. Each day, after housework, she wandered room to room, thinking about her future. Another year passed. Her husband was rarely home, always returning late, exhausted and irritable, complaining that business wasn’t going well. First, he told Maria to spend less. Then he demanded an account of every purchase and expense, insisting they could live well for half the cost. Maria was worried. She wanted to go back to work, but couldn’t find a job in her field. She enrolled on a course, but then her mother-in-law fell ill. Maria had to care for her for two years when her husband moved his mother into their home. Maria did everything—she was the nurse and companion. Her husband came home even less. After his mother passed, Maria’s husband grew increasingly distant, barely spoke, avoided her gaze, and spent most of his time at work. Maria couldn’t understand what was happening until she visited her old mother-in-law’s flat—where she hadn’t been in ages. Behind a closed door, she heard a child crying, even though she thought the flat was empty. She rang the bell. A young woman answered. Maria learned that her husband had started a second family before his mother’s illness and moved them into his mother’s flat. It was a shock. Maria knew she couldn’t save her marriage. She left for another city to stay with her aunt, practically empty-handed, with only a small handbag. She didn’t want a single item to remind her of her marriage—and how tragically it had turned out…
For two years, Mary was nothing more than a nurse to his mother. I remember how Mary managed to marry...